


Coffee and Books

by Little_Neliel



Series: Whatever Your Heart Desires (Eskralt Coffee Shop AU) [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst and Feels, M/M, Mentioned canon major character death, Mistaken Identity, but not modern, coffee shop AU, eventual eskralt, spoilers for end of the book series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Neliel/pseuds/Little_Neliel
Summary: The year on the Path after learning of the pogrom that took Geralt from him is a rough one for Eskel. Having never acted on his feelings for his lifelong friend, he now never can.He finds himself in Ard Carrigh and an eerily familiar face catches his eye. Following them back he finds himself in a small bookshop, in the care of a red headed man that looks strikingly similar, and yet so different, from the man he lost.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Whatever Your Heart Desires (Eskralt Coffee Shop AU) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148936
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Coffee and Books

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the Coffee Shop square on my Sugar and Spice bingo card.
> 
> One part mystery, one part love story, and a whole lot of angsty chaos. I hope you enjoy!

The Path this year had been winding and long. With only half the year gone, Eskel found himself wandering into Ard Carraigh just as summer was starting to wane. 

Heart heavy, he hadn’t wandered far from Kaer Morhen. Despite the news that Geralt had died, that his life had been taken protecting others, he held out hope that it was false. His oldest friend and constant companion, as much as witchers had a constant companion, through the years couldn’t be gone. Geralt had survived so much, had been through so much, a few peasants with pitchforks couldn’t have taken him down. 

Eskel’s latest contract had paid surprisingly well, a remnant of Jaskier’s work. He was hoping to take a bit of downtime in the city before making his final circuit and heading to Kaer Morhen for the winter.

His wandering path through the city eventually brought him to the marketplace. As the crowds thickened, Eskel dismounted and led Scorpion; a man on foot stuck out less, especially a witcher, and he didn't want to draw attention to himself. Letting the flow of the crowd pull him along, he passed stall after stall, his eyes roving over the goods on offer. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, just enjoying the bustle of a bigger city and wandering through the crowds with less scrutiny than he would find in a smaller town.

He finally drew to a stop at a small woodcarver's stall, eyes drawn to a small carved wolf, painted white, head thrown back in a howl. A small smile tugged at his lips, it looked like something he'd buy Geralt to tease him about the latest nickname that the bard had the people calling him. The White Wolf. It had suited him, building on the ‘wolf’ that Eskel had called him for years.

“You looking to buy, or just to paw at the goods and block my other patrons?” The owner of the stall was an older man, face pulled into a sneer as he watched the witcher.

Eskel’s scarred fingers were unconsciously trailing over the detailed fur of the wolf, “Your work is exquisite, master carver. I...” he started.

The craftsman took a step forward, “I don’t care what a monster thinks of my work, now leave a’fore I call the guard. I don’t want your kind here.”

Eskel turned, hiding his scars from the man on instinct as he left the wolf and shoved back into the flow of people. He was about to drop his gaze, further hiding himself from the eyes of the few townsfolk that had caught the commotion, but he stopped as a flash of red caught his eyes. In front of the stall across from the carver stood a tall man, hands nimbly sorting through the herbs on offer. The red hair was what caught Eskel`s eyes, red hair of that shade brought a flash of memories from long ago, back before the trials when he'd spent every day with a small, willowy boy that was determined to become a knight.

The long red hair fell loosely to the man’s broad shoulders, fluttering as it caught in the afternoon breeze. Eskel watched as the man turned slightly, smiling and haggling with the herb vendor. And then Eskel caught a glimpse of a familiar profile; a long, pointed noise, deep brows and piercing green eyes.

His breath caught in his throat. 

The man paid the herbalist and turned back into the crowd. Eskel wasn’t sure what he’d just witnessed. Geralt was dead, and his hair and eyes hadn't been that colour since they were very, very young. After a moment’s hesitation, Eskel followed him.

The red-haired man wandered through the streets, cheerfully greeting a few people as he went until finally he came upon a very dilapidated looking shop. The windows were covered, and the paint was peeling; the whole shop looked like it had been abandoned for years. A sign hung askew above the door, faded, but Eskel could just make out the name, the ‘Amber Snapdragon’. A tiny bell chimed above the door as the man disappeared inside.

Eskel stood, conflicted. There was no way it was him, there was no way this building was a public shop. But his curiosity won out and he tied Scorpion to a nearby hitching post, and with a gentle pat to his muzzle, he headed for the door. He had to know.

The small bell once again dinged as he entered, and he was greeted by the smell of coffee and the underlying scent of books. Rows upon rows of them lined the small shop, and at first, Eskel couldn’t see anything else. The shelves, while a little dusty, were well kept and looked nothing like the outside of the shop. 

“Welcome!” a cheerful voice called.

Weaving his way through the shelves, Eskel came upon a small open area in front of the large window at the front of the shop. Comfortable chairs were strewn about, and at the back of the homey space a small counter was set up. Behind it, the trappings of coffee making were neatly laid out.

“Hello?” Eskel called out.

“Sorry!” the voice called again, followed by the sound of things hitting the floor, and some cursing, “I just got back from the market, I’ll be out in a second!”

Eskel leaned against the counter, nerves a flutter. He closed his eyes, taking in the familiar scent of books, and the less familiar scent of coffee. Usually coffee was something only found closer to Zerrikania, but every once in a while some found its way north. Over the years he’d managed to sample some here and there, and it was definitely something he enjoyed.

“Sorry again,” the voice came from right in front of him, “What can I get for you?”

Eskel opened his eyes and everything ground to a halt.

His glances in the market couldn’t have prepared him for the sight. Standing in front of him was a man that could have been Geralt. Could have been, except where yellow eyes would be, green blinked back at him. At some point he’d pulled the red locks back into a bun, showing a sensible undercut for the warm summer months. A well maintained beard framed the man’s face. No scars graced his skin, the cheeks only held a smattering of freckles from the summer sun.

“Sir?” the man tilted his head, eyes questioning. 

Eskel shook himself, it couldn’t be but, but he had to ask, “Geralt?” his voice was soft, wavering, barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Geralt?”

The man shook his head, a few wisps of reddish hair flying free, “Don’t know anyone by that name. I’m Eric, this is my shop,” his arms opening in a gesture to encompass the organized chaos of the chairs and books, “I’ve got some of the finest coffee from Zerrikania, why don’t you grab a book and have a seat? You look like you could use a rest. I’ll bring over a cup for you.”

Eskel nodded, unable to form any words. He practically stumbled over to the nearest shelf, grabbing a book without looking. He found the closest chair and sat heavily. The book rested, forgotten, on his lap as he watched Eric work. The man clearly knew what he was doing, motions confident and quick as he moved around behind the counter completely focused on his task. 

Sitting in the chair, watching the other man, Eskel’s thoughts began to grind. Eric could almost be the splitting image of Geralt, but he wasn’t the other witcher. While Geralt was happy in the winter months, laughing at Lambert’s ridiculous ideas, and egging Eskel on to try their latest stunt, Eskel would never have called him cheerful, not like this. While they shared features, this man’s scent consisted of herbs, coffee and the prevading musk of the bookstore he worked in. There wasn’t a hint of blood, sweat or battle about him, no deep earthly tones of a world weary witcher that held a soft joy in spending time with his oldest friend. 

If witchers weren’t incredibly long lived, and if their days before the trials weren’t over a human lifetime ago; he’d almost say Geralt must have had a twin brother that Vesemir hadn’t claimed. Thinking of Vesemir caused another memory to stir in the back of Eskel’s mind, clearer than the one before. One of a small, red haired boy with green eyes full of tears as he hid behind Vesemir. His hands clenched tight to the back of the older Witcher’s pants as he tried to coax the young boy out to meet the only other boy his age in the keep. 

Closing his eyes, he let the memories drift over him as he often did when they surfaced. Geralt’s smiles, his gentle laughter as they teased Lambert over the winter months. Soft conversations had as they relaxed in the hot springs. Eskel had always held a flame for the other man, spending most of their lives together had bonded them in a way that had ruined Eskel for anyone else.

When he’d gained his scars, he’d pulled back even more from anyone but the other wolves. Geralt had tried to get him to find others, to build relationships outside the school, but the other wolf had been all Eskel had needed.

Until the news of his brutal end had come.

Eskel’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair as his memories turned from the initial happy ones of their early training days to the more recent ones.

The dreaded letter had turned up at the very start of last winter. A short note letting them know their brother had fallen, victim of an overzealous peasant with a pitchfork . A dull, lifeless medallion, scrubbed clean of blood, had accompanied it. Geralt was gone. Taken from Eskel for trying to be the white knight he’d always wanted to be, defending nonhumans, standing up for what he believed was right. Despite always grumbling about staying out of things.

Both the letter and the medallion were carefully stored in Eskel’s room, remnants of what once was. He couldn’t bring himself to bury the last thing he had of Geralt. Not yet.

The news had hit Eskel even harder than when he’d returned to find Kaer Morhen in ruins after the attack on the keep, leaving behind only Vesemir and those that had been out on the path. He had spent the winter in solitude, Lambert and Vesemir unable to get him to leave his room much beyond the occasional bath and trip out to see Scorpion. 

His downward spiral was halted when Eskel was pulled back to the present by a cup being set down gently beside him. Cracking his eyes open, he found Eric watching him, concern marred his features. Worry was clouding the other man’s scent, drowning out the softer tones of herbs and coffee that Eskel had smelled earlier. 

“Thanks,” he managed, placing the book gently on the table and wrapping his hands around the warm mug. He let the heat soothe him as he tried to pull his features into something happier to reassure Eric. 

Eric tentatively smiled, “Nothing like a hot drink and a good read after a long trip.” 

Eskel hummed in agreement, some of his favourite memories of Kaer Morhen were long nights spent reading by the fire. Geralt would bring hot cider, or tea, as they shared the peace of reading together. Letting the pleasant memory settle over what had come before, he took a small sip from the mug and savoured the deep flavour of the drink, “This is really good, I haven’t had a brew done this well since the last time I was down south.”

Eric grinned at the praise, “Thank you, master witcher. I spent some time learning from the best in Zerrikania.”

Eskel felt his breath catch as the other man’s face lit up. He was beautiful and the witcher felt a familiar pang settle under his heart. Geralt had caused that same pang many times over the years, and despite never having the courage to act on it, Eskel realized he’d missed feeling it. Now, presented with someone who could be almost the splitting image of his lost love, his traitorous heart flared with new hope. 

Swallowing down his revelation, he kept his face neutral and nodded, “It definitely shows,” Tilting his head to pull his gaze from the familiar face, he took another look around the shop while he shoved down everything that had come to the surface. 

“I’ve been through Ard Carrigh many times through the years, but I’ve never seen this place before. When did you open?” he asked, desperately searching for something to talk about before he blurted out something he’d regret. 

“Just last year actually! I’ve travelled most of my life, but I figured it was time to start settling down. So I decided to bring some of the south up to the Northern Kingdoms.” the other man flopped into a chair next to him, seemingly relieved that Eskel’s mood and improved, and happy to chat, “I have a friend that still regularly travels south, she brings me fresh beans every few months.”

So caught up in watching Eric, Eskel almost didn’t notice how at ease he seemed around a big, scarred witcher, “You don’t seem to mind a Witcher in your shop,” he noted.

“Oh!” A big smile spread on Eric’s face, “I travelled alongside a witcher years ago. I have a decent knowledge of herbs, but poor self awareness. I almost got my head taken off by a griffin one day when I was paying more attention to the herbs than my surroundings.” 

Eskel raised a brow, motioning for him to continue.

Eric shrugged, “The witcher saved my life, but he took a rather good gash to his arm in the process. I helped patch him up as best I could. Since we were travelling in the same direction we continued together for a few weeks. He taught me a little about witcher alchemy so I could help him out, and he kept me from getting eaten by anything else.”

A shudder passed through Eskel at the mention of learning witcher alchemy. The concoctions of the witchers were carefully guarded secrets. They could be deadly in the wrong hands. He needed to find out who had told him the information, what school had been involved.

“What was his name?” he asked, trying to hide the overwhelming curiosity in his voice.

“It was…” Eric frowned, “You know, I can’t remember,” he laughed a bit, cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment, “I’m a little absent-minded I suppose, but I do know he wore a medallion similar to yours.”

“Exactly like mine? A wolf?” That narrowed the field quite a bit, but he couldn’t think of any of the remaining wolves ever divulging witcher secrets. 

Eric nodded, “Pretty sure, then again I can barely remember his name, so my memory might be a little fuzzy.”

Eskel waved it away, he’d bring it up to Vesemir this winter, but otherwise left it.

“It’s not a big deal,” he took another sip from his mug, letting the warmth sooth down the jitters from the conversation. “You should tell me more about your travels, it’s not often I get to talk with someone other than another witcher, and all their stories consist of trying to see who killed the biggest monster.”

Smiling, Eric launched into another tale from his travels, hands gesturing as he spoke.

Eskel leaned back into the chair and listened. His eyes focused on the almost familiar face, and he felt a little bit of himself settle as Eric’s voice flowed over him. As the red-haired man’s tale continued, he felt his eyes slowly fall shut. 

Eric’s voice was close enough to Geralt’s that for a minute, Eskel could almost see the other witcher talking about his travels. In the darkness of his mind, he allowed himself to imagine they were back at Kaer Morhen, relaxing in the main hall after a long year on the Path. With a small pang of guilt, he let the illusion wash over him fully and let himself pretend that it was Geralt across from him. 

Between the soothing sounds of Eric’s voice, the comfort of the chair after a long time on the road, and the soothing heat of the coffee, Eskel found himself unable to fight off the slumber he felt himself being pulled into.

\----

A hand gently shook his shoulder, and Eskel snapped from sleep, instantly alert. His hand halted on the way to his sword as he took in his surroundings.

“Shit, sorry,” he dropped his hand to his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He trailed it down past his scars as he grimaced at the man in front of him.

Eric waved his apology away, “I shouldn’t have woken you like that,” the corner of his mouth hitched up in a slight grin, “Never wake a sleeping witcher must be a warning somewhere.”

“It’s good advice, but they shouldn’t fall asleep in your shop in the first place.”

“You looked like you needed the rest.”

Sleep had been elusive to Eskel more than he’d care to admit since he’d learned of Geralt’s passing, but falling asleep in a strange place wasn’t something he’d normally be able to do. The similarities of Eric to Geralt had concerningly lulled him into sleep. 

He noticed that the sun was much lower than it had been when he’d come in, and he stood, “I’m sorry I should get going. Thank you for the coffee.” he added, flustered. He needed to leave, to sort through everything that was going through his head since his first encounter with this man.

“Hold on,” Eric reached out, placing a warm hand on Eskel’s forearm, “I was going to offer you an actual bed if you needed to sleep more. Those chairs are comfy, but not long term.”

“Oh,” Eskel paused, considering the offer. Spending more time with Eric sounded good to a small part of him, but as the other man’s hand tightened a bit on his arm, something felt off. While the grip was reminiscent of many over the years, the lack of the proper sword callouses screamed that this wasn’t the same person. No matter how much he looked like Geralt, this wasn’t Geralt.

“Thank you, but I do need to get going,” Eskel gently pulled his arm away. No matter how friendly this man was towards witchers. No matter how much Eskel was feeling himself standing on the edge of the precipice of falling for someone that only served as a replacement for what he could no longer have, he couldn’t stay. He needed to leave.

Eskel thought he saw disappointment cross the red-haired man’s face before the smile returned, “Alright, but come back again, okay? It’s nice to have someone to talk to about their travels.”

Part of Eskel screamed at him to not come back, the edge of the precipice looming closer, but a small part of him wanted nothing more, “I don’t know when it will be, but if I’m through town again I’ll come say hello.”

“I’ll be here,” Eric smiled, “Stay safe on your Path.”

With a slight wave, Eskel finally left the small bookstore and cafe. With the unexpected nap he was feeling rested for the first time in a long time. The bell chimed softly as he closed the door behind him. He greeted Scorpion as he untied his reins from the hitching post and mounted. As he turned back to the shop, he found himself facing a much newer facade to the Amber Snapdragon. Eskel shook his head, but the clean lines, bright door, and light curtains didn't fade. Whatever had been concealing the shop before had somehow faded. 

Sitting for a moment in the saddle, he contemplated the shop front. The clean appearance remained, and he briefly considered returning to ask Eric about it. With a sigh he left it; whatever it was didn't feel malicious, and he might have been mistaken before, so caught up in following Eric that maybe he didn’t clearly remember what he’d seen. 

Eric. Eskel’s thoughts turned back to the red-haired man who had been so kind to him, despite his scarred appearance. His thoughts were in turmoil; he had felt something for the other man while in his company, but was he genuinely interested in Eric, or was he simply attracted to the fact that this man reminded him so much of Geralt? He couldn’t bring himself to fall into the trap of substituting one man for another. He would feel horrible doing that to Eric, and he didn’t want to tarnish the memory of his Geralt. 

Taking some time to sort out his feelings felt like the best course of action. After that he could decide if he wanted to return and see Eric again.

**Author's Note:**

> While this is a one shot for now, I do have more planned for this AU! 
> 
> Stay tuned!
> 
> \---
> 
> I have to give huge thanks to a few people for the chaos that this is.
> 
> My friend, who doesn't know anything about the Witcher aside from what I yell about Eskel to her - she helped start this fic as a crack story to get that bingo square filled, and it's definitely evolved into something else.
> 
> VVitchering for helping sort out the name for the place that fit both the story and the general witcher shop name aesthetics. 
> 
> Finally, AnnaBlume for helping me brainstorm so much of the smaller, key details, and making sure this thing makes sense to anyone else! Also for the beta read to make sure my spelling wasn't too terrible!
> 
> I 💜all of you so much :)


End file.
